


Suffocate and Let Me Breathe

by Darke_Eco_Freak



Category: DmC: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Breathplay, Edging, Frottage, M/M, Orgasm Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27850910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darke_Eco_Freak/pseuds/Darke_Eco_Freak
Summary: Mundus tries to stand between them, and they kill him. The angels try to tear them apart, and they destroy them. Nothing will ever separate them again, exactly the way they want it. Exactly the way they want each other.
Relationships: Dante/Vergil (DmC)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Suffocate and Let Me Breathe

They’re alone again, like they always should've been. Alone together at last and it’s everything he ever hoped it would be.

Dante — standing victorious in a sea of bodies, Yamato thrown over his shoulder. Himself — sprawled on a throne with Rebellion between his hands. Alone together, the only together that could ever matter. 

“Kat would be proud,” Dante s/ays, hums it in the back of his throat like a bitter bite, and Vergil nods. Yes, if that’s what Dante thinks, then yes, whatever his brother wants. 

Dante didn’t know Kat the way Vergil did, didn’t know she hated bloodshed and misery, but that’s...okay. That’s good because bloodshed and misery is what they  _ are _ , hell’s fire and angelic desire. A blade cutting meat-muscle-bone, white teeth bared in snarls and sneers, dripping with blood.  _ That’s  _ what they are, and Vergil won’t let anybody damn Dante for that. 

Their father’s lucky to be beyond their reach. Vergil would gladly take Sparda’s head for Dante’s sake, of course he would. There isn’t much he wouldn’t do for his brother. He isn’t sure such a thing exists. 

“We did good, bro,” Dante sigh-smiles, and saunters his way through the slush and slur of viscera, to him. Every wet squelch echoes, pushes another body out of the way, and isn’t he the most beautiful thing?

Dante, alone on the battlefield, stalking closer, straight towards Vergil. His jacket flares out, caught in the new crosswind ripping through their destroyed wall. They’ll have to get that fixed, and the throne room cleaned, and perhaps set new guards in their tower. 

But all that is for later-after- _not_ now. Here and now is for Vergil to lean back in his throne and wait for his prowling brother. Swirl his absinthe and take a drink from the cracked glass while he takes in his sinfully beautiful other

They are identical in every way, eyes-smiles-lusts, but oh Dante wears it so much better. His devil-may-give-a-fuck smile, his heaven-could-burn guile, the particularly  _ lush  _ way he licks his blood-specked lips and winks.  _ Decadent _ . 

Dante comes and Vergil waits, the same as ever, but Vergil’s impatient too. He snags his brother with Osiris when he steps close enough, drags him in with the crook of the scythe, right into his lap. Something Dante could stop if he wanted, if he even hinted, but no, his brother cackles loud and lively instead. Lets himself fall into Vergil’s lap  _ just _ -so, with a cocked brow and gleaming grin.

“Hey there handsome, c’mere often?” is the terrible line Dante opens with. Something to make Vergil roll his eyes and groan playfully. A thing to break the silence Kat left beside them and ease into an easier kiss. One that’s playful, like they are on the battlefield. A kiss that trails from slow to deep, a curl of a tongue and snap of teeth. Dante goes and Vergil chases, fingers curl in leather collars and cocks jump in too tight boxers.

When they break, they don’t go far, only far enough to huff each other’s breath and taste copper-silver-gold. Yamato sings at Dante’s side, Rebellion hums by his, and they both shudder together, as one. Behind, in front, and scattered all around are demon bodies, angel bodies, humans too. 

A strike team from that wretch calling himself President, a legion from the lowest depths, and a host to toast the new Kings’ health. All slaughtered, all dead without so much as a last word, and Vergil  _ should  _ care. The incessantly human boy inside of him says he  _ does _ , how could he not? 

But Dante kisses him again, swoops in for something quick and dirty, then rocks back and away. Far enough that Vergil can see his kiss-bruised, blood-stained mouth, reds mixing together, ruddy-ruby reds on Dante’s fight-flushed face, slicking his devil-sharp teeth. 

And Vergil shuts up that foolish little boy to steal a kiss of his own. Until they break with a laugh, until they whine with a gasp. Cocks still hard in their pants, hearts still beating fast in their chests. These peons weren’t a challenge, not even a match, but they  _ did  _ get the bloodlust up, and they bled so much blood.

So, here’s the lust left over, oh whatever shall they do?

“No, mmm I’m new in town; why don’t you show me a good time?” is a line he’s used before. When he was drunk off his own kills and willing to fall into bed with anything pretty. Well lucky-lucky him, now he’s got something gorgeous to spend his time with.

Dante laughs again, at his terrible line, but he falls for it as easy as anyone ever has. Vergil’s handsome, and blond, and looks like he can fuck; who wouldn’t jump at the chance to taste his cock? Though, he wouldn’t say no to having Dante’s in his mouth, heavy on his tongue and stretching open his jaw.

Ohh, that would be divine.

Dante opens his mouth to suggest something, but Vergil wasn’t really asking. He lunges and swallows down those useless words with a wild-wicked kiss, one that’s wet on their lips and slick in their throats. And breathless, and grounding, stroking the jagged-feral thing in his chest and stoking the power in his veins.

Until he’s gasping and Dante’s panting and they’re staring down blue on blue on blue again.

“Do you⸺” Dante starts.

“Let me⸺” Vergil stops.

And they stare, blue matching blue, then move together as one. 

Dante’s jacket slides off and onto the blood-soaked floor; Vergil’s shirt rips and the buttons fly. A hand lifts, a foot steps, and Vergil’s settling back down onto his  _ real  _ throne with Dante hard underneath him. They both take a second to settle; for Vergil to grind against the cock pressing perfectly into the curve of his ass, for Dante to settle his palm over a too slow pulse.

A crystal second stretches, strings between them. Where the fuzz of control brushes off his shoulders, where Dante takes what he wants and doesn’t have to second guess. They are everything they need, and they always have been.

Then Dante squeezes and Vergil rocks, and they’re both whining, low and needy. 

“ _ Dante _ ,” shushing past his lips. 

“ _ Vergil _ ,” breathed like the filthiest swear.

The pressure isn’t the bone burning part of being choked, the fingers digging into his skin and crushing his throat. The warmth of the palm against his pulse, the haze and blur that spots across his eyes isn’t it either, though those are nice. 

It’s the control, it’s always the control. 

Over him, over the situation, over when he breathes and how and why he shouldn’t. A control that keeps wrapped tight around his heart and never lets go, a control that he spools out for Dante like everything else he gives Dante. 

And, because they’re Nephilim, the Kings of Hell, nobody else could even do it right.

Dante though, oh Dante’s fucking perfect. Squeezing tight-tight, with a thumb pressed to the base of his jaw and nails cutting into his skin. With a hand on his hip, rutting him against a hard cock that he can’t wait to have in him. Fucking him full, fucking him sweet. Yes, yes, just like that. 

Vergil doesn’t realise when his mouth drops open, when his tongue lolls free, but he does feel the teeth nipping the very tip. The slick drop-drip of blood beading and falling and splattering his bare chest. Making a mess, such a mess, and he reaches blindly to run his fingers through it, smear it-wear it. 

“Fucking beautiful,” his brother growls, and he feels it right down in his bones. Roiling in his gut like a good sword cut should; grip and  _ twist _ . 

Pressure off, fingers loose, and he’s coughing on a ragged-gasp that hurts so sweet. The air’s not the important part, but he sucks it down anyway, blinks wet eyes and stares dully.

Blue eyes blown, blue eyes black-no red. A trigger that’s not a trigger anymore, that’s just how they are now. Are his red too? Does he match his brother like he should?

“Don’t cum ‘til I say, kay?” mumbled against his cheek, right into his ear, and Vergil nods. Swallows some of the spit collecting in his mouth and nods. Yes, okay. Yes, he can do that.

Then the heartstopping control’s back, tight around his throat and bruising on his hip, exactly the way he wants it. Dante knows, of course he does, Dante’s so good, perfect-perfect-perfect. His perfect brother.

Rutting against his ass, wet and messy and hard, fuck yes more. Using him like a toy, pressing his weight down and lifting him up so effortless. Please please more.

A slice of teeth, something ‑ something cutting his jaw and he’s drooling. Can’t help himself. Cock drooling in his pants, spit leaking down his chin, and blood, more blood. Silver and stuck in his nose, all he can smell, all he can see when Dante pulls away, eyes silver-red and mouth stained with silver blood.

Their blood. Nephilim, theirs, only theirs. Each other’s, that’s what they are. All they have to be.

His lungs are aching, not enough to kill him. His head’s swimming, not close to drowning. The world is far away and doesn’t matter. Did it ever? And all Vergil has, holding him down-together, is his brother guiding him into another kiss. 

A sloppy slide of tongue and teeth, that’s a mess, that doesn’t mesh right but still fits perfect. Dante purrs a word against his tongue, something his hazed-out brain can’t parse, but Vergil can’t fix it in his head to understand. Another word, buzzing in his mouth, against his lips, and he still can’t hear it. 

But he feels the hand not on his hip, down-down outside his pants. Heel of a palm pressing against his cock, a practiced roll of the wrist and cloth’s dragging across the head. A rasping noise, gasping⸺oh that’s him. Yes, him. 

Moaning as loud as he’s allowed, too far gone for words, but he can still let Dante know. Not that he doubts his twin does. Dante knows him, inside and fucked out.

One more word, a whole sentence strung together against his temple where his shuttering eyes can’t see. Important? Maybe? Must be? Vergil can’t think, but he doesn’t have to, his brother’s taking care of that  _ for  _ him. 

Deciding when he should breathe, if he should cum, how and when and if, and Vergil loves it. 

“Love you,” mouthed against his cheek, words he’d know without sound, words he keeps wrapped around his shatter-shard heart. 

Then Dante’s cumming against his ass, hot and wet, a mess all over his pants, seeping into the cloth. But no-no, Vergil wants more, squirms and rocks and ruts for more-more-more please-please-please. And fucks up into Dante’s hand, the smooth rhythm beating every thought out of his head. 

Another love you against his lips, and his name too, and the hand around his throat’s gone.

“Cum for me, Verge.”

And he’s gasping, ragged-blissful, and doing as his brother says, anything for Dante, whatever he wants. Back arched in a perfect curve, jaw slack in an ugly pant, cock twitching under his hand. Whatever Dante wants, Vergil will give him if the world he wants it.

“You’re the only world I want,” Dante assures him, soft and gentle like his brother only is with him. Like it should be, always be.

Vergil can’t help the smile that splits his flushed face, not when it cracks his jaw or tugs on a healing scar. Dante never asks for much so Vergil will give him this.

And more lazy kisses as they frot against each other, through their orgasms. Sighing their pleasure and sharing their post-orgasmic high. Though they could go longer, so much longer, but the room is starting to stink. 

Too many bloods are mixing and he almost liked this office. What a shame to burn it to the ground, but they have a whole world to choose from.

And just like that, control snaps back onto his shoulders as easily as it broke away. Vergil runs a hand through his hair, shoving all of it back, and takes stock. Hmm, there’s no salvaging his shirt, but there’s nobody here to care, and Dante loves to leer.

Oh, there’s no saving  _ his  _ pants either, and Vergil likes to get in his share of sneering. They’ll teleport back to the apartment anyway, have a nice fuck in the living room, up against the wall then the doorway, maybe make it to the bed eventually. For now, he snatches up Dante’s jacket from the ground and pulls it on, rubbing his cheek against the collar just for more of that mingling scent.

And Dante smirks-winks-grins as he picks up Vergil’s crystal casualty of war and knocks back the rest of the absinthe.

“Your place or mine, handsome?”

Their cackling laughter is the only thing they leave behind, with their throne and their kill. 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the spardacest "it's got to stay in the family" zine which can be found on twitter and tumblr.
> 
> This piece could also take place in the same verse as Nephilimic Parallax


End file.
